


345 reps, 10 sets

by rememberrogers



Category: Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Humor, M/M, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Pining, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Post-Endgame, Steve Rogers's Butt, Tony-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-09-30 19:17:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17229686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rememberrogers/pseuds/rememberrogers
Summary: When Stephen pressures Tony into going to his Superhero Slumber Party, Tony relents. It's all dull until he meets a new — or maybe old — friend.





	345 reps, 10 sets

**Author's Note:**

> this is... crack. ignore this. honestly. 
> 
> this is a product of that beautiful idea that some of us hold where everything goes back to normal after endgame/infinity war, and nobody gets hurt. like post-avengers (2012) but with more people and more diversity! anyways, hope you enjoy!

“I hate you.”   
  
“You also say that to Parker, Rhodes, Potts,  _ and _ Banner, so I'm taking that as the highest compliment one could get from Tony Stark.”   
  
Tony lifts his head just to glare at Stephen Strange because he's Tony Stark and he can do things like that. He sets it back down. “I don't wanna go to Wong's stupid karaoke party.”   
  
Stephen snorts. “Will you ever not be so mature, Stark? It's not a karaoke party, it's a meeting that has karaoke because somehow Clint Barton convinced Wong and God knows Wong cannot be  _ unconvinced _ , and it'll contain nearly every superhuman on earth in a room. A very, very large room.”   
  
Tony sits up, huffing. “It doesn't matter who's there! Even if King fucking T'Challa went — ”   
  
“He _ is  _ going to be there.”   
  
“...Okay, it slightly matters because King T'Challa will be there, but — You're missing the point! I don't want to go!”   
  
Stephen gives him a studious look. “You're being obnoxiously less Tony Stark-ish than usual. When have you not wanted to be in a room full of beautiful people?”   
  
“Well, if you're there, that bit of ugly might suck up all that beauty,” Tony deflects, even though Stephen doesn't react besides an arched eyebrow. Deflating, Tony lays his head in his arms again.   
  
Fucking Strange and his movement to make Tony Stark move. Sure, ever since his and Pepper's wedding has been put on a permanent... Hold, he's been very much in a Stop Fucking Looking At Me I'm A Genius Billionaire Who Can Put Your Web History On Your Parents' Facebook Feed Right Underneath A Minions Meme mood, but who the hell does Stephen Strange think he is, trying to get Tony out in the world again? If Rhodey, or Happy, or Bruce can't do it, neither can a doctor wizard Tony met a year ago. Even if they're already out in the world at a cafe in Midtown, which Strange had teleported him and Tony to from Tony's workshop, Strange  _ still can't fucking do it. _   
  
Fucking Strange.   
  
Stephen abruptly shifts in his seat. “Oh, I didn't — We won't invite Barnes if you don't want us to. I — We only invited Loki because Barton said he wouldn't maim him because of the mind-control-almost-ending-the-world thing. So, the whole uh, 'killing-your-parents' thing is completely sympathized with. So much so, that you'd be interested to know that Wong's parents were actually — ”   
  
“Strange,” Tony interrupts blandly. “You can shut up now. I don't care about Barnes being at your Superhero Slumber Party.”   
  
Stephen visibly relaxes. “Oh, good. He's bringing homemade cheese for the buffet and I really like that stuff.”   
  
Tony gives him a weak glare. Stephen sighs. “God, Stark, when was the last time you got a full night's rest?”   
  
Tony gives it a considering moment. “1991,” he answers.   
  
“Look, just drop in for five seconds,” Stephen negotiates. “Five seconds of showing your face. You know, the others don't say it, but... They're all —  _ We're _ all worried. Since the cancellation of the wed — ”   
  
Tony shakes his head, shutting Stephen up. His jaw clenches. “Fuck, Stephen, just. Damn it, is — Is Rogers gonna be there?”   
  
Stephen's eyebrows shoot up. Tony unintentionally sinks lower in his seat as a mischievous smile grows across the other man's lips.   
  
“What the hell, why are you smiling like — ”   
  
“So,  _ that's _ why you don't want to go,” Stephen leans in, intrigued. “That's much more interesting than if it was because of the dead parents thing. Some old feelings rising up, eh, Tones? I've heard through the sorcerer vine that you and old Cap have gone through the whole... UST thing a couple of times.”   
  
Tony stares at him in mute disbelief for a full five seconds before he stands up, starting to take his wallet out to pay the bill.   
  
Stephen snorts out his muffled laughter, shaking his head, and pulling on Tony's arm. “Shoot — Look, no, I'm sorry, Tony, just — Sit back down — ”   
  
Tony — because he's weak and for some reason likes this asshole — sits back down, arms crossed.    
  
“You're an asshole.” He frowns. “Five years ago, if someone told me that world renowned Doctor Stephen Strange was an immature asshole, I wouldn't have believed them yet here we are.”   
  
Stephen shrugs, grinning wide. “I'm a really smart asshole, and it's called a young spirit, not immature.”   
  
Tony bridles. Stephen somehow grins wider.   
  
“Listen, I'll make sure you and Rogers are on completely different sides of the room for dinner. Hell, I'll even trip his tongue with a hex if he attempts a conversation, okay? Just show up, we want you to be there.”   
  
Tony attempts to keep his resolve for all of three seconds before capitulating. He nods gloomily, huffing. “I hate you. I'll go.”   
  
“Love you, too, Stark,” Stephen says cheerfully.   
  
—————   
  
“Hey, Mr. Stark!”   
  
“Parker,” Tony greets, semi-confused. “Need some help there?”   
  
Princess Shuri laughs as she talks with Captain Marvel, while in one hand she elegantly holds a glass of water, and the other she recklessly moves a sleek device that is currently making Peter float in air.   
  
Peter waves him off, doing a complicated flip in mid-air. “No, I'm fine, Mr. Stark! Maybe you should check on Mr. Rhodey, though!”   
  
Tony rolls his eyes, “It's just Rhodes if you're — you know what, never mind.” He looks over to where Rhodey is currently taking in innumerable amounts of shots with a huge, muscular hero who Tony doesn't even recognize, and momentarily thinks that he should save his best friend but decides against it, because y'know — blackmail. Tony slips his phone out and snaps a couple of pictures.   
  
Abruptly, Stephen pops up beside him. “Stark.”   
  
With dignity, Tony jumps two feet in the air.   
  
He glares at the wizard. “What?”   
  
Stephen is barely containing a grin. “Hi. How's the party so far?”   
  
Tony gives a cursory glance around the room, before arching an eyebrow. “This is the only Probably-Will-End-With-Police-Sirens party I've been to that I haven't been part of the reason of those sirens, so great, really.”   
  
Stephen shakes his head. “I thought this was going to be a high society meeting. Instead it's a frat party.”   
  
“Aw, the first one you've been invited to,” Tony coos. Stephen gives him a pretty view of his middle finger.    
  
Stephen clears his throat. “Anyways... Tony, you do realize I insisted on inviting you because you were too isolated from the world in your workshop?”   
  
“Yes.”   
  
“Then why are you isolating yourself next to the bar?” Stephen huffs.   
  
Tony licks his lips. “Thirsty.”   
  
“For the past three hours?” Stephen arches an eyebrow.   
  
“Hey, the first two were dinner and stuff,” Tony argues. “And nearly every single person on your guest list talked to me, too. It's like people can't accept that I'm going through a midlife crisis.”   
  
Stephen sighs. “Come on, Stark, there's so many people here! And a bunch of strangers, so a bunch of fresh starts.”   
  
Tony snorts, knocking back the rest of whatever drink that's in his hands. He sends Stephen an amused look. “Strange, I don't  _ get _ fresh starts. If someone hasn't heard of me, then their sister, or their father, or their best friend's cousin's grandma has, and those people always have opinions. No fresh starts.”   
  
Strange stays quiet. “You're not even interested in hooking up with any of them?”   
  
Tony arches an eyebrow.    
  
Stephen shrugs. “Wong's been chatting up a few girls, why don't you?”   
  
Tony chokes on his drink, then strains his neck, looking around. “W-Where? Where is he?” he demands, grinning.   
  
Stephen graces him with a tiny smile. “He can be charming. Anyways, just... Look around, Tony. See if anyone catches your eye.”   
  
Tony snorts again. “See if anyone catches my —  _ Fine _ , look, I'm looking around, Str — Oh. Oh, wow.”   
  
Tony's eyes glaze over as his eyes land on the finest ass he's ever seen. Because — Because,  _ wow, _ that's. That's an ass that is dipping into the  _ unreal _ category.  He could write fucking sonnets for this ass — he could marry this ass and never look at another's ass again. Eyes widening, Tony comes to the sudden realization that this is what his whole life has been leading to. Him meeting this work of art. This work of ass. They were meant to be. And fuck it, Strange is  _ right _ , because Tony is going home with someone, and it's the owner of this ass — before he owns it him damn self.   
  
Tony's eyes swerve to Stephen before they involuntarily go back to The Ass. “Th - That one. Person. Ass.”   
  
Stephen raises his eyebrows, an amused look tainting his eyes. “What?”   
  
“Look!” Tony whispers, pointing indiscreetly at the ass. “It's — It's gorgeous — ”   
  
Stephen's shoulders are shaking in mirth, and Tony's about to scold him, but then The Ass's back is straightening, finishing picking up whatever the Ass Owner was picking up, and Tony's vaguely aware that he's still pointing at The Ass, but fuck it, he has to know who's fucking ass this is, and now Tony sees the Ass Owner's blonde — fuck yes, Tony loves blondes, brunettes,  _ whatever gets him that fucking ass _ — hair, down to broad shoulders covered in... Dyed black Kevlar, to a stupidly narrow waist, and the Ass Owner's face is turning, and a thick beard is in view, and — Oh,  _ fuck _ Tony's life.   
  
Stephen chokes.   
  
Steve Rogers' eyebrows furrow at them. Tony looks down at his finger, which is still pointing directly at him. Rogers looks side-to-side, behind, and — aware of his surroundings — above himself and below, then looks back at Tony and words, 'Me?'   
  
Tony feels his cheeks slowly burn in a way that hasn't happened since the late eighties as Stephen guffaws unashamedly in his ear. Tony yanks his arm down, and spins on his heels, pulling a hysteric Stephen with him into a crowd of chattering heroes.   
  
“Oh my god,” Stephen gasps out. “Th-That will never not be hilarious. I'll — I'll  _ always _ hold that against you. I have material for  _ years _ .”   
  
Tony scrubs his hand over his face, attempting to erase his pinkening cheeks. He has a creeping feeling it's not working.   
  
“Shut up,” he growls.   
  
Stephen catches his breath. “I — I literally  _ can not _ . You just — You just called Captain America's ass gorgeous. I — I really  _ can't _ shut up.”   
  
Tony scowls, crossing his arms, and very much avoiding looking in Steve Rogers' direction again.   
  
“You suck,” Tony mutters. “And this party sucks. And everyone here sucks.”   
  
“Except Rogers's ass?” Stephen asks seriously, before snickering. “Honestly? I don't even believe you. How have you not checked Rogers's ass out at least one time in the battlefield?”   
  
That's the thing — Tony  _ does _ know Rogers's ass. Hell, he couldn't tell you the color of Happy's eyes, but he could sure as hell tell you which material Rogers's ass looked best in (obviously a pair of jeans made from original French denim that Nat had bought him, but Rogers never wore them besides a couple of beautiful, spare times). He knew the bane of his existence's ass better than he knew himself, goddamnit, and, honestly —   
  
“He has to have been doing squats for the last three years,” Tony insists. “Because that — That is not his usual ass.”   
  
But now Stephen's eyebrows are crawling up his forehead, and his lips are being pulled to a Grinch-like grin.    
  
Tony winces.   
  
“So, you  _ do _ know the Captain's ass,” he remarks gleefully.    
  
“Stephen Strange, I swear to god — ”   
  
“Tony.”   
  
Both Stephen and Tony startle, and some of Tony's drink tips over onto his hand. He curses.   
  
Stephen quickly composes himself. “Captain Rogers. I pray you're enjoying yourself?”   
  
Tony quietly glares at Strange. He forgets how much of a boring asshole he is when he's not talking to people who he knows won't ditch his sorry ass.   
  
Tony's acutely aware of Rogers's eyes burning into his profile, but he very slowly takes out a napkin from his blazer, and methodically wipes the spilt alcohol from his skin.   
  
It's a process.   
  
Rogers eventually looks away. “I — Yeah. It's a great — a great party, Doctor. Just the type of thing we needed after... after Thanos.”   
  
Stephen nods, preening. “Yes, well, I can't take all the credit. Tony, here, helped me a whole lot.”   
  
Tony's head snaps up. “Wugh?”   
  
Stephen's eyes creases just a bit, a secret sign of his contained laughter. Not sure if you know this, but Tony hates him.   
  
“I was telling the Captain how much you helped me set this party up,” Stephen replies, beaming uncharacteristically at him. “Wong and I couldn't have done it without you.”   
  
Tony keeps his eyes trained on Strange. He shrugs. “It was no inconvenience, Doctor. I love charity work.”   
  
Stephen let's a bit of one eyebrow arch, before continuing. “Tony insisted on making it so that everyone got a chance to get a... Fresh start. A new...  _ View _ of everyone. See each other in a different way than normal, to put it into a few words.”   
  
Rogers lets out a confused noise that is obviously trying to sound like one of affirmation, and Tony feels panic rising in his chest. “Yes, yes, well, fresh starts are always good, so, of course — ”   
  
Abruptly, there's a loud crash from another room. Despite Tony knowing that the other rooms are full of priceless, magical artifacts, Stephen simply smirks. “Oh, no. I must check on that. Be back soon, you two, don't move on without me.”   
  
Tony really,  _ really _ hates Stephen Strange.   
  
Hates.   
  
The silence is so uncomfortably unbearable, Tony seriously considers jumping out the window five yards away without activating the suit.   
  
He desperately tries, “So, how's Sleeping Beau — ”   
  
“I saw you pointing my way,” Rogers starts at the same time. Tony internally bangs his head on the counter behind him, but just motions for Rogers to continue on. “So — So I thought I'd see if you... if you needed me?”   
  
_ If you need me, I'll be there. _   
  
Rogers shifts on his feet, looking for all intents and purposes, panicking and vulnerable.   
  
Tony isn't sure what the hell to do.   
  
“Strange and I, we were just — just talking. Y'know. Chatting, talking, viewing the uh, the party I contributed to — to make,” Tony says, chest crumbling as the more he talks, the more Steve's posture shrinks in on itself.   
  
Fuck.   
  
Fucking Rogers and his lost fucking puppy face. Nat always said it'd be the death of Tony.   
  
“O-Oh,” Rogers murmurs. He laughs, just this side of bitter. “All good things, I expect?”   
  
And shit, Rogers doesn't  _ get _ to expect anything from him, okay, but Tony can fucking expect things from Rogers, and at the top of the Expectations From Rogers To Tony list  is that Steve does not fucking make the Lost Fucking Puppy Face.   
  
And, god, Tony has to do everything, doesn't he?   
  
“Actually, yeah,” he blurts. “We, uh — What're you doing, Cap, your whole figure is looking... Great. Lunges? Still on pilates?”   
  
Steve stares at him.   
  
“It's a uh, it's a calisthenics,” Tony finishes weakly.   
  
Steve inhales, sharply. “I — I'm sorry, Tony, but I — I can't, okay? Just... Just not the time to be joking around — ”   
  
“Joking around,” Tony repeats.   
  
Steve gives him a Look. “Yes, joking around. I think I'll just take my leave — ”   
  
“ — I'm not 'joking around', Rogers — ”   
  
“ — I know Strange invited me out of politeness — ”   
  
“ — this is probably the least funny thing that has ever happened ever — ”   
  
“ — and I should've known you'd be uncomfortable with me here — ”   
  
“ — because I'm one hundred percent telling the truth when I say that your ass is amazing!”   
  
Steve finally stops talking, pulling to an abrupt stop. Tony's eyes widen.   
  
“Uh.” Both of their heads swivel to land on a bluish man made entirely of rocks. “Just came to get some homemade cheese. I'll act like I didn't just hear whatever you didn't just say.”   
  
Tony and Steve stand there, avoiding eye contact, as the rock man loads up his plate with blocks of cheese. It takes awhile — Barnes provided a variety.   
  
“Okay,” the rock guy finally finishes. “I hope you guys solve your lovers' quarrel.”   
  
As he thumps away, Tony rubs his temples. “Who the hell  _ are _ these people?”   
  
“Tony,” Steve says very slowly. “Are you attracted to me?”   
  
Tony lets out a low whine emanating from somewhere in his chest. Fuck it, he's supposed to be off dairy, but let's see if Barnes did bring his game.   
  
Tony spins, and starts picking up cubes of cheese.    
  
Steve strides forward, and stands directly next to him. “Tony, please — ”   
  
“You know, Cap, these aren't half-bad,” Tony comments. “Tell Barnes that he should get into catering. Soldier, murderer, caterer — has a ring to it, doesn't it?”   
  
“By the sounds of it, the next is cannibal,” Steve deadpans, and the familiar dry humor makes Tony's heart racket.   
  
“Rogers, you're not getting it, all of them end with -er, that's what makes it good — ”   
  
“345 reps, 10 sets,” Steve interrupts, a telling amusement filling his eyes. Tony pauses in shoving a rather pale cube in his mouth.   
  
“Wugh?” he asks with great dignity.   
  
Steve lets a bashful smile slip. “Sam's got me on doing squats — Something about not enough white men being uh, 'thicc'. So, I — I'm doing 345 repetitions, 10 sets a day.”   
  
Tony gapes at him. Steve turns a brilliant red.   
  
“Oh,” Tony exhales. “Well, you're — You're really pushing yourself there.”   
  
Steve bites his bottom lip. Nods.   
  
Tony stares. Clears his throat. “O-Okay, I've gotta get going, you know, genius billionaire things to do, so — ”   
  
“Tony,” Steve pleads.   
  
Tony, helpless to do much else, looks back at him.   
  
Steve swallows, bright blue eyes hopeful and nervous. “I like your ass a whole lot, too.”   
  
Tony — for the second damn time tonight — flushes pink.   
  
Steve, himself, turns a deeper pink.   
  
They stay there, breathless, staring at each other. Steve licks his lips, words on his tongue, and Tony himself opens his mouth.   
  
“Tony, I — ”   
  
“Steve — ”   
  
“Stark, Captain.”   
  
“How many more people are going to fucking interrupt?” Tony hisses at Stephen, who immediately glares at him, and Steve lets out a contained but  _ real _ laugh, still blushing red.   
  
Tony's heart swells.   
  
Stephen huffs. “Well, I was just seeing if you were — ”   
  
“We're fine,” Tony cuts in. Then inhales deeply. “So fine, in fact, that we're actually going to be leaving early.”   
  
Stephen raises an eyebrow, and Steve freezes. “We — We are?”   
  
Tony swallows back any nerves. “Yes, Rogers, we are.”   
  
Steve blinks, then nods frantically, a stupid, enormous, silly, adorable grin spreading across his cheeks. “Yes! I mean —  _ ahem _ , yes, Doctor, yes, we'll be leaving early.”   
  
Tony rolls his eyes, but his own stupid, enormous, silly grin is taking over his features.   
  
Stephen looks back and forth between them, eyes narrowed, before he hmphs. “You both owe me. Rogers, tell Barnes I want a few months of free cheese.”   
  
Steve blushes a bit, but nods all the same. “I'll see what I can do, Doctor.”   
  
Stephen rolls his eyes, but he's smiling a bit. “Call me Stephen, Rogers. I'm afraid we'll be seeing each other a whole lot more.”   
  
And it's stupid, but — Tony really likes the sound of that.

**Author's Note:**

> if you liked this mess please give it kudos, comments, and/or bookmarks! thanks for reading!


End file.
